Don't Turn the Lights Out
by Scarlett Green
Summary: AU  "There are few friends who will make extreme sacrifices." Sometimes, the only thing you want to do is turn back the time... But you can't.  John/Dave


**A/N: **Hey guys! I haven't been on here in forever... not even to read fanfictions, let alone write anything. :I I have some stuff done for _Fractured_ but I haven't had time to sit down with the story so I've refrained from updating. The only reason I'm posting this is because we had to write stories for my Writer's Craft class, and being the dork I am, I based it off of something that would remind me of a fandom I liked. So yeah, this is my first Homestuck fic. And if I accidentally forget to change a name (because I had to use different names for school, of course) please let me know? I'll try and sit down with _Fractured_ as Christmas break draws closer. For the time being, I hope you enjoy this!

**Warnings:** Character death, implied boy love, implied violence.

**Disclaimer:** Homestuck and its characters belong to Andrew Hussie.

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><p><strong>Don't Turn the Lights Out<strong>

_There are few friends who will make extreme sacrifices._

"It was all my fault."

It was almost like a broken record in John's head; the same line was repeated over and over. The same line was in sync with the beeping of the heart monitor that was connected to Dave.

"No. You know perfectly well that it wasn't," Rose's sharp voice broke John's rhythm. His eyes snapped over to the fair girl. In her arms, she held a basket of fruits with a few flowers carefully placed on top. "My brother may be an idiot, but you and I both know that he cares deeply for you. You're his best friend."

John's lips curled up in a tiny smile at that. That was true; he and Dave had been best friends since they were twelve, and even now, they continued to stick together. Hours earlier, they had finally moved into an apartment together. On their way back from a celebratory drink at the local pub, a car sped through a red light. If it weren't for Dave, their roles would have been reversed —he would be lying in that stiff bed instead of Dave.

John sighed. The doctors didn't know when Dave would wake up, so he waited. The hours became days, and soon weeks. The white hospital walls blended together, but still, Dave wouldn't wake. Some nights were spent with Rose; other nights he waited alone. Some nights were blurry from tears, and others he talked to Dave, hoping, begging, and pleading him to wake up. But maybe he wouldn't; after all, he thought, "it was all my fault."

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><p>Dave was surrounded by a numb darkness. Was he dead? He didn't feel dead. He just felt numb. Some nights he heard crying. Who was crying? And other nights he heard voices. Whose voices? He didn't know.<p>

Although the darkness was still and emotionless, there was a single, sharp prickling at the back of his head. It felt as though a pin had been stuck in his head, and he couldn't pull it out. He tried to scratch it, feel for it —everything he could think of— but it wouldn't leave him.

Then, one day, it broke, and Dave's vision was filled with white. His heart rate sped up, his pupils dilated, and suddenly, there were colours and shapes, and —John.

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><p>John didn't know when Dave woke up; all he knew, from Rose, was that as soon as the doctors said that it was okay, Dave would be able to visit him. He was excited by the thought; he could finally see Dave again! He wished that he could see Dave, and maybe go hang out or have a drink, but Rose had told him that he was not allowed to leave his room. He didn't know when he decided to paint his walls white —he distinctly remembered them being blue— or when he actually painted them, but whenever he tried to explain this to Rose, she would look at him sadly, shake her head, and leave.<p>

The first time Dave came through the heavy, metal door of John's room with a tall man behind him, John bounded towards his friend, a happy cry slipping through his lips. He hugged his dear friend, taking comfort in Dave physically being there, and not just in his imagination. John sighed against the pale skin of Dave's neck.

Dave didn't say anything; in fact, it was almost as though he was gasping for breath.

John's brow furrowed, but, figuring his hug was a bit too tight for Dave's liking, he let go. Stepping back, he saw bruises beginning to form on the light, tender skin of Dave's neck. He reached out to touch them, but the tall man intervened, forcing John to the other side of the room where he was pushed to sit in a chair. He whined at the feeling of something harsh and cold on his wrists, but he paid no attention to it. It was cool against his sore wrists.

For the rest of the time Dave was there, he stood silently. When Max tried to make conversation, Dave would flinch and look away; he'd never answer.

Despite that first day being painfully boring, Dave still came to see him every day. One day in particular, John bounced his leg happily, humming in excitement for Dave's daily visit. He had made a new friend! Her name was Jade. She was thin and sharp, and she always wore her bright green jacket.

The door opened. "'Sup John?"

"Dave!" John ran forward to greet him, "I made a new friend! Her name's Jade, and she —" Jade was ripped away from John's hand by the tall man. John screamed and tried to get his dear friend back, but the tall man wouldn't let him.

Dave left early that day.

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><p>"You don't have to go see him, especially not every day." Rose's arms were folded as she stood outside the mental institution with Dave. "If he could understand the condition he's in, he would understand the reason behind your absence."<p>

"If he could understand his condition, he wouldn't be in there, Rosie. And he's my best friend."

"Best friends don't try to kill you almost every visit!" Her face was red with anger.

"It's a sacrifice I have to make."

"You're ridiculous, David. You're taking this far too personally. If you let him be, the doctors would be able to help him instead of having to care for your safety every single day."

"He's gotten worse. They're saying he'll probably be gone by the end of the week."

Rose went quiet. "I'm sorry, David."

He shook his head, "It's all my fault."

She opened her mouth to speak, but shut it promptly. She had seen the hurt in her brother's eyes when he woke up to John being physically dragged out of his room. She had seen his horror and sadness when he realized what his best friend had become. The doctors said it was a sort of guilt complex, that John felt as though he had killed Dave, so by some disturbance in his mind, his body sought to make that true. Dave didn't speak to anyone for weeks, even after he was discharged from the hospital.

Dave visited John three more times before he had to make funeral arrangements. John's father had passed away some few months ago, but of course, John never knew. Now, Dave was really all that was left of John's family. He requested for John to be buried next to his parents with an empty plot on his other side.

Other than when he was required to speak, Dave was silent. He didn't say a word during John's ceremony. He denied his duty to a speech. He knew that he would never be able to say the words he wanted to.

Rose said he was grieving, and that it would take time, but he'd be able to move on.

Dave stayed silent.

After the burial, everyone left one by one —all except Dave. He stood in front of the newly carved gravestone, wishing he could go back in time and fix everything. It was his idea to go down for a drink; it was his idea to walk. If he hadn't gotten in that accident, John would've been okay.

"It was all my fault," he whispered. That night, he joined his best friend.

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><p><strong>AN:** Hope you guys enjoyed reading! Leave me a comment? c: Thanks!


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